What can I do to make you see (your destiny?)
Quinn sighs with happiness as the gentle wind whips through her spunky blonde hair; the aromatic scent of fresh shrubbery and nature which surrounding her and pleasing her eager senses. The deep breath she brings deep into her lungs reminds her why she thrives off this- photography. The gorgeous scenery she sees daily refreshes her mind and cleanses her soul, finally putting her mind to relaxation.
Her camera is raised. Quinn captures a breathtakingly detailed image of the glowing orange sun setting behind the trees, sending them into a black silhouette with the intriguing orange wash landscape as a background to the jet black silhouette, much like a hand crafted piece of artwork. The sky looked as if the hand of nature had swooped down and brushed a dark orange line of watercolor paint across the peak of the sky and allowed it to trickle downwards, progressively lightening the shade until it was nothing but a white glow.
She smiles languidly to herself at the way her mind instantly threaded art into everyday life and kicks a few lonesome rocks which lay lifelessly on the dirt path, located in the middle of the grassland- a slim lake running through the collection of rocks to its left side causing the delicate patter of running water to sound into the air. It sends a warming mood to tingle through Quinn and warm her chilled being. The sound of the stream trickling and the evening birds chirping in the surrounding tree tops which swayed soundly around the rim of the walkway calmed her soul and momentarily cleansed it of all its troubles and worries. Peaceful; everything was so peaceful.
Everything was so beautifully quaint and content until Quinn registers a cell phone ring with heavy rock music. The blonde sighs as she peers curiously behind her at Santana who lagged behind on the pathway, stationary, whilst she answers a call with a loud, disruptive greeting which caused the appeased wildlife to flee its current situation. Quinn rolls her eyes and turns her back on the Latina, fiddling with her camera to program it at new settings, merely for the sake of doing so to distract her from the emotions Santana gave her. It didn't work.
Quinn doesn't even know why she brings Santana along with her anymore on her photo shoots. The Latina continuously complained about not spending enough time with her, so had practically began inviting herself along. Not that Quinn exactly minded too much, Santana was a piece of art herself and Quinn had always known that, but her work had been slipping since the girl had begun joining her, and Quinn knew exactly why. She was always too caught up in admiring the beauty that was her best friend instead of the natural beauty surrounding her.
However, Santana couldn't seem to appreciate pure art in any form. When observing a piece of artwork, Santana would shrug it off and label it meaningless and mediocre whilst Quinn stood in awe, lost in its beauty and the subliminal messages would hold. When taking a photo, Santana would take nothing into proportion. She'd dismiss Macro, use any old lens and program the ISO and shutter speed to a random number which distorted her photographs. But even now, standing with the camera hanging unused and lifeless around her neck, Santana still holds full control over Quinn, somewhat mesmerizing her. Santana will never know that, of course.
The blonde didn't believe Santana to be talentless in the slightest; however, when it came to the artistic talents, she was hopeless. As something which came as second nature to Quinn, she couldn't understand why doing these things became a trouble for Santana. The photographer shrugs to herself as these thoughts cross her mind. People can't be good at everything, I suppose. Quinn knew that Santana's true talent lay with the musical arts. Even when it came to music, she and Santana disagreed in what could be classed as talent. Quinn's musical taste orientated around acoustic melodies with heart wrenching lyrics, written to tug on the heart strings of the emotionally broken, but Santana claimed the only true music was that on the heavy side which contained thrashing electrical guitars and drums. The Latina claimed that this was the music that healed the broken, because no matter how aggressively the lyrics were performed, they held the most meaning and power. Quinn disagrees.
Quinn pauses and allows herself to purely breathe the clean air to erase the thoughts of Santana from her burdened mind. She shakes her head- as if forcing these thoughts away- and smiles as her thoughts wander down the rabbit hole of fantasy and art once again. She rotates on her feet elegantly, admiring the dreamy sunset as it melts away beyond the trees. The following pictures she captures, she thinks, are keepers for sure. She will ask Amy to publish them tomorrow and who knows where the uncontrollable tides of the industry will take them this time. With a little editing they will be amazing, even if she says so herself. The hoops of deep copper light ringing around the lens, spiraling out from the deep red gaps between the sunken tree silhouettes are just what the magazine is looking for in the new autumn edition.
Quinn lets out a groan as she lowers herself down onto the fresh greenery and marvels at the sunset in awe- in awe of how it is blessed with the gift of inspecting every inch of the breath taking earth every day. Quinn hums softly along to the little tune forming in her thoughts as she cherishes the view. The song in her mind was the one she'd had the pleasure of singing with Santana back at their senior prom. Santana- no matter what Quinn begins to think of, her wandering thoughts always wind up on the hopeless Latina.
Quinn's head falls onto the side as she stares, thoughts and distinctive memories flooding her mind. She couldn't control the fact all the images her mind reflected upon were containing Santana. Clutching her hair and squeezing her weary eyes shut only intensified the thoughts. High school was so terribly easy compared to this. Her and Santana had been inseparable back in those care-free days of foolishness and playfulness. Quinn laughs dryly at them now. What a waste of three valuable years.
The blonde resists the urge to look back at Santana- despite how her mind was currently orientating around the dark haired girl already; knowing too well that the sun will be radiating off those perfectly shaped facial features in an exquisite image. Mocha eyes will be shining with the same mischievous glisten, only intensified by the blessing of the sun beams. Something she wants to just capture on film and treasure forever, but feels strange and awkward when considering physically doing so.
Her and Santana have become so opposite after these several years. Truly, Quinn has changed. Santana is a different story all together. Quinn's life revolves around her sophistication and art, using her obvious talent to earn herself- and current roommate Santana- a living, and a not-so-decent one at that, whilst Santana is still the rebellious, fiery girl she's always been. As Quinn once quoted, Santana Lopez never changes. Wild, notorious party animal nonetheless. Although Quinn doesn't mind too much, she just wishes Santana would earn her own living, and not just work small hours as a tacky waitress at some diner, drinking on the job and being threatened of being fired every other week.
Quinn's intense thoughts are rudely interrupted by a pair of warm, gentle and oh-so-familiar hands slipping around her eyes, blacking out her dazed vision with an infectious giggle. Quinn- still lost in her artistic perception of life- admires the sparks of pinks and purples erupting behind her eyelids from where she'd been staring at the sun, spiraling around and morphing into green faded blobs- an image Quinn wishes she could capture if only it was possible.
"You know, looking at the sun for long periods of time can damage your eyesight." Santana says in a mock-professional tone, pulling her hands away suddenly as if Quinn's skin burnt her when Quinn swatted them away. The Latina sighs in symphony with the blonde and places herself besides her best friend on the bank, her gaze following Quinn's to the horizon, behind the trees. All Santana saw was trees and a bit of fading sun; unlike the silhouette and warming masterpiece Quinn sees.
Santana never understood the dynamics and such interest someone could hold with simply capturing images on the screen of a camera. The only reason she was sat here at this point, when she could be preparing for a night out instead, was because she felt this undesirable drift tugging her and her best friend apart. This drift was playing at Santana's mind, tugging her heart to the extent that she could not sit and simply not do anything about it. Even if it meant becoming interested in something she is not.
Honesty is- Santana couldn't live without Quinn. Sure, she economically helps Santana's life and for that she is forever grateful but emotionally; too. Quinn is her rock. And a very beautiful rock at that Santana thinks. A rock she never wants to lose, but keep treasured for eternity and care for it; being as it's the delicate rare beauty it is.
"I don't care; it's just so beautiful..." Quinn murmurs, still unable to face the sun lit beauty besides to her because of questions on her own self control. Control is something Quinn Fabray learnt she had a lot of, but never when around Santana, whom finds herself dreamily staring at Quinn's milky features.
"Too right it is..." the raven haired girl murmurs, her eyes still fixated on an unaware Quinn. Only the Latina will know that the sunset wasn't at all what she was on about.
Seven years. Seven years they have been like this. Never moving back, never moving forward. Questioning science -science of progress- but their questions struggle to speak, like the secrets held strictly inside their hearts.
They sit in the usual silence that washes over them, both girls staring at inadequate objects to distract themselves from the other girl, yet they remain completely oblivious to the fact the other girl is facing the same troubling emotions towards them. It's always like this. Silent, unmoving. Progress is a word Santana never seemed to pick up the meaning of and never acted upon.
"So, I guess you should go head home and get ready for your night out." Quinn says quietly, her eyes dragging down from the sky until she watches her hands fumble with the singular strands of grass, suddenly finding herself interested in how rubbery it felt and how the green blobs in her eyesight from staring at the sun swirled around it, just in order to distract herself.
Santana lets out a small, undetectable sigh. There it is again. The drifting. Her eyes flicker up, almost afraid, as she peers up into Quinn's through her lashes. Their eyes reluctantly meet and Quinn smiles warmly, causing a small smile to tug innocently on Santana's lips. It's so adorable to Quinn that she can't resist slipping her arm around her best friend, pulling her close and laying her head on a perfectly fitting shoulder. The affection slowly fills up the emptiness in Santana's heart but she's fully aware it's only contemporary.
"What are you thinking?" Quinn questions softly; genuinely curious. She peeks up from Santana's shoulder, seeing the orange lit features that were so highly irresistible. Art. It's all Quinn ever thinks when she sees Santana, no matter what state the Latina is in. The Latina is even an artistic beauty when drunken and passed out on her sofa- no doubt a state she will be in later tonight.
Santana laughs falsely and shakes her head, smiling at Quinn and stroking her fingers through the smooth blonde hair as a subconscious display of affection. "Does that really matter, Q?" She shrugs, shuffling away a little so that Quinn takes the hint and straightens her spine again, eternally fighting a battle of many opposing emotions. Firstly, her stomach was fluttering with indescribable feelings- the kind you read about in sappy romance novels which were challenged by the powerful wash of disappointment which settled in the pit of her stomach, mustering up a somewhat sickening feeling.
Quinn nods and softly and replies, "You always matter..." before shrugging it off and looking up with glittering eyes at Santana who now stood, waiting to leave, holding out her camera to Quinn. Santana gives a weak, disbelieving smile at the compliment and passes the camera into Quinn's hand, her fingers delicately brushing over the back of Quinn's hand on the rebound, a hand she treasures to hold in her own and protect from harm- an emotion Santana had never felt for anyone else.
"I'll see you tonight, Q." Santana smiles, giving a weak wave as she begins waking back down the dirt path, her head bowed as she looks into the stream, placing her earphones in her ears, blocking out the content sound of nature which Quinn found appalling. Quinn watches the girls every movement sadly. She's slipping through my fingers again. If only she could find some way to bring them back together. The way they used to be. But for now, Quinn has photos to print.
Quinn knows that tonight will be like every other Friday night. She will head home with the freshly printed photographs and send off the best to Amy and John, the magazine publishers and close friends of Quinn's. She'll be alone in the cozy yet lonely apartment as she flicks through Santana's comedic photos in amusement, embraced by the gentle flicker of the open fire. She'll fall asleep on the sofa after watching a heart wrenching, romantic movie with little Arthur- Quinn's excitable boxer puppy- in her arms only to be awoken by a drunken Santana staggering through the door noisily at some ridiculous small hour. Then she'll make coco for them both and stroke Santana's messy hair until the Latina falls into an easy sleep.
It's became ritual for Quinn.
This is Santana Lopez and she refuses to change.
If only Quinn could teach her to shine.